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I couldn't escape him, now or ever. He'd always be there, consuming my every thought, my heart locked in his hands. I was drawn to him by forces I couldn't control, let alone escape.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Force
Consuming
Hands
Locked
Thought
Drawn
Ever
Escape
Heart
Forces
Every
Couldn
Always
Control
Alone

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I couldn't stand here, hanging on, when the very thing I held disappeared more with each passing day.
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He was abominable...and the most alluring, tortured soul I'd ever met.
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Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.” “So maybe he’s a little drunk.” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.
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Nice costume, he said. Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours. Amusement curled his mouth. If you don't like it, I can take it off.
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I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a once-over that lingered a bit below the hips. “Killer skirt. Deadly legs.
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I’m really starting to like all this spy work,” Vee said. “When my normal life gets boring, all I have to do is sidle up next to you.
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Patch smiled. “You come by your red hair naturally?” I stared at him. “I don’t have red hair.” “I hate to break it to you, but it’s red. I could light it on fire and it wouldn’t turn any redder.
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If you can't feel then why did you kiss me? Because I can feel it here, in my heart.
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This is crazy, I told Patch in an undertone. I'm crazy. He was on the brink of smiling again. About you.
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If you keep running from me, you're never going to figure out what's really going on.
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...Good, because I need your help. Help is my middle name. I was pretty sure she'd already told me bad was her middle name, but I kept my opinion to myself.
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Rollover minutes don’t work with curfews.
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Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.” “Yeah, so?” “He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.” “Being nice? He’s being horny.
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They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They never tell you that when you watch someone you once loved dying, hovering between this life and the next, it's twice as painful, because you're reliving two lives that traveled one road together.
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The sensible part of me wanted to dissect my emotions, overthinking and overcomplicating my reaction to Jev.
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Jev stroked his chin. Do I look like a summer fling?
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Walk out,” he repeated. “We need to talk.” “About how you need to sacrifice me to get a human body?” I asked, my tone light, my insides feeling leaden. “That might be cute if you thought it was true.
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The truth is, normal might take years. Normal might never happen. But it’s definitely not going to happen if I lounge around here watching soaps and avoiding life. I’m going to school today, end of story.
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You're crazy. You're impossible.' 'I'm crazy?' He tipped my chin up and planted a quick, rough kiss on my mouth. 'And I must be crazy for putting up with it.
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...I need a boyfriend. And to get a boyfriend, you have to look good. Doesn’t hurt to smell good too.
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